Chapter One
I could begin with the day my husband dumped the bones of Charles LaFontaine into the lap of Sheriff Tony Sweet. It seems like everything spinning started to fly apart from that moment onward. Or the day I first saw a man 59 years dead riding in the back of Faith’s old Buick. Or did it start when I was a little girl and my imaginary friend was a teen-aged black girl named Rockie? Every now and then Rockie still shows up in my dreams.
I do know I was dropped into this world with no one to catch me and I’ve been looking for safety ever since.
Sometimes I see things I just don’t believe are there. I attribute this to chemical changes in my brain that occurred when I stopped using smack. But I only do that when I want to fool myself and that’s kind of against the recovery code, fooling yourself. The truth is, I’ve been seeing things that aren’t there since I was a little girl. In my first memories, I am not alone. Rockie is there. I’ve had about a dozen psycho-babblers tell me that Rockie is a product of my brain, my need for someone to be a constant in my life. They say that it’s perfectly normal for someone who has been through the crap I’ve been through (they might not say crap) to want a point of stability, even a little bitty girl. They don’t say little bitty girl, either. I try not to go to psychiatrists anymore. I think it’s habit forming and we’re supposed to watch out for that sort of thing.
• • •
The thing I saw that afternoon last year was real. I know it was because of everything that has happened since then and because I wasn’t alone. There was a crowd of people in front of the Germaine Cafe. Well, as big a crowd as you get in Germaine. Probably six or seven people counting me. And it wasn’t unusual for there to be people standing around on the sidewalk on a Monday morning staring in the window at Tsalagi Red, Pattyjo, and whoever their guest was, talking into those microphones. That morning, Red and Pattyjo were in Portland on business so Susie Applegate was guest hosting the Germaine Social Hour and her guest was Sheriff Sweet.
You could hear what was going on in there because there are speakers set up beneath the awning of the cafe, and Radio Germaine was on the air. If the weather is nice, then Hannah sets chairs and tables up out there and you can sit and have some coffee and bagels or danish or whatever else Hannah’s got while you listen and watch through the window.
I was just on my way to drop off the horoscope for July at The Germaine Truth, and since I was way ahead of deadline and had nothing better to do, I stopped to listen to Susie and see what kind of radio personality she might be. Susie Applegate is a news reporter for The Germaine Truth and she’s the daughter of Howard Applegate, who owns the paper. It’s been in their family forever. Susie doesn’t like me very much. Okay, that’s not fair. She doesn’t really pay any attention, which is the same as not liking in a town like Germaine. I think it’s because I do the horoscope and I’m new in town. I’ve only been here seven years.
Susie sounded pretty good. “Sheriff Sweet,” she said, “what does your office plan to do about the drug smuggling going through this County?” She can be direct.
“Well, Susie, there isn’t as much of that as people like to think. I know there are rumors about all sorts of nonsense going on, but most of the travel through our beautiful little town here is really just tourists or people passing through.”
“There are an awful lot of tourists and people passing through carrying guns in their belts.”
“Hunting is good up in the Ochocos. You know that. The people of Germaine know that. Seems like they could spend more time minding the honeydew and less time creating rumors.”
“Hunting? With lugars?”
I did want to hear what Sheriff Sweet had to say to that, but then I saw my husband. We were all so interested in what Sweet and Susie were up to that we didn’t see him walk into the cafe. We didn’t see him until he was standing by the table where Susie and Sweet were set up with their coffee and mics.
“Hello, Harlan.” Susie pretty much had to acknowledge he was there.
“Hi, Susie,” Harlan replied to her, but he was looking at the sheriff like he wanted to eat him alive. Then he swung a gunny sack he’d been carrying over his shoulder down and set it right on Sheriff Tony Sweet’s lap. Which was only possible because the Sheriff was leaning back in his chair. Had it tipped back on the hind legs of it, the way everybody’s momma told them not to, except mine.
“What the hell is this, Harlan?”
“I think this belongs in your closet, Sheriff,” Harlan said and he just turned around and walked back outside. Sheriff Sweet opened the gunny sack and I swear he turned white. He reached into the bag and pulled out a bone. I don’t know a femur from an ulna and wouldn’t know a human bone from a deer bone, but it was pretty apparent that Sheriff Sweet was holding a human bone by the look on this face.
The interview was over.
I looked around for Harlan. He was gone.
